


Heart's Desire

by neverlandlumos



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverlandlumos/pseuds/neverlandlumos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin is hit with a spell which renders him entirely dependant on Dwalin, it cannot come at a worse time: Erebor reveals a second door equipped with a password. Dwalin struggles to save a fading Thorin, the only person who knows the password.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart's Desire

The spell hits Thorin so hard in the chest he’s thrown off his feet and thrown several yards away with a howling, pained sound. By the time Dwalin can reach him, the King is curled into a foetal position, shivering hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“My Lord?” He tries, but Thorin gives him no response. Not even a glance. “Thorin?”

They cannot linger. They must leave and quickly. He hoists Thorin into his arms like he would a newlywed lass, worried by the lack of response.

*

Thorin does not eat, nor speak, and is scaring Fili and Kili. Fili is a hair’s breath way from a sobbing mess, clutching Thorin’s hand tightly with his own, though he has given up attempting to gain a response from his uncle.

Kili shoots worried glances Dwalin’s way the entire evening. He and Balin have no idea what spell, magic, whatever it was, could render their King to such a state.

*

Dwalin closes the King’s eyes with gentle fingers, but no one knows if Thorin sleeps.

*

Travel is difficult. Thorin appears lost in his own mind. He cannot walk, talk, eat or fend for himself. Dwalin assures Fili that he will never leave their uncle’s side. Fili is a pallid thing, now, worn with worry and scared to his very bones at losing Thorin. Dwalin’s heart clenches at the sight. He makes Fili eat more soup. Thorin still does not eat.

*

Dwalin clutches desperately at Thorin’s lapels, shaking him firmly, uselessly. “Erebor, Thorin. We are getting close to Erebor.” Thorin remains silent. Seeing Thorin in such a way is tearing his heart to pieces. Where the fuck is the wizard?

*

Oin feels like a failure, so Dwalin assures him them they all do. He aches, carrying Thorin around is tiring to say the least, he is no measly lad and easily matches Dwalin in height. They stop by a river of sorts, the water is clean and fresh, much to the delight of Master Baggins. Dwalin throws him in the deepest part of the stream with a chuckle.

Thorin sits against the rock. Dwalin approaches him, uncaring about his own nudity, with every intention of making Thorin bathe.

Thorin is crying.

Dwalin feels his face tighten at the sight. He peers into the King’s face, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. He is confused, he doesn’t understand. Thorin’s eyes do not move, yet more tears slip and roll down his gaunt cheeks.

*

He undresses Thorin with far more difficulty than he first imagined, and carries his King to the stream. The others have left, creating a small camp several meters away from the stream, close, so Dwalin can still see them. Privacy to bathe, Gloin had said.

Dwalin holds Thorin’s nose and quickly dips his head under water, bringing his head up and allowing Thorin to float in the loose embrace of his arms. Thorin looks like an angel, like the ones young Dwarven lasses read about, hair spread out in the water, muscles wet and taut, though far more pale than usual.

*

He indulges just once, a quick press of his lips to Thorin’s, and Thorin’s mouth parts under his own, a breath drawn between them sharply through Thorin’s nose and Dwalin tears his face away in surprise. Thorin remains the same, face schooled to the usual blank expression. Dwalin wonders if he imagined it.

*

Master Baggins has been very helpful with Fili and Kili. The boys are losing hope for their uncle. Dwalin does not blame them. Thorin’s hands grow cold under his own.

*

Dwalin requests privacy again. Thorin must eat, so Dwalin will make him eat, no matter what it takes, but he does have the decency to turn his back to the camp, the others on the other side of the fire.

Thorin lays deathly still, and Dwalin feels like his heart is thudding in his throat. He holds Thorin’s nose and spoons the soup into Thorin’s mouth, switching hands quickly to press against the King’s throat. Thorin swallows. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Dwalin kisses Thorin’s forehead and cheek in relief.

An uproar from the other side of the camp deafens Thorin’s whimper.

*

The bowl is finished. Dwalin closes Thorin’s eyes once again, hoping, his King is sleeping.

*

Dwalin is awoken by thrashing. His heart almost stops in his chest when he realises it’s Thorin screaming from the other side of the camp. He’s left Fili and Kili to sit aside Thorin, for some family time, and deduces that he must’ve fallen asleep with the others. He looks up and realises it’s actually Nori who has awoken him.

“He’s screaming for you!”

*

“Dwalin, Dwalin, Dwalin,” Thorin chants, out of breath. His eyes are wild, ablaze with a foreign fear. Fili clings to his uncle to no use. Kili bites his into lips punishingly. Dwalin rushes over and crouches next to the King, resting a hand atop his forehead, turning his head to face Dwalin’s own.

“Thorin, I’m ‘ere!” Dwalin calls, staggering forward and narrowly avoiding landing on top of Thorin when the King grabs a handful of his tunic and drags him close.

“They are here,” Thorin whispers. Bifur and Bombur stop cooking immediately at the sound of their King’s voice, the first anyone’s heard in days. 

“They are here,” Thorin repeats, cloudy eyes welling up with tears.

“Thorin, I don’t understand what ye tellin’ me,” Dwalin says, frantically clutching Thorin’s face. Helplessness settles in Dwalin’s chest for the first time. He immediately despises it.

He dips his head close to Thorin’s mouth when his words begin to drop in volume. 

“Help me, Dwalin,” Thorin begs, voice broken. “ _Help me_.”

*

Thorin’s voice echoes in his head every second he isn’t distracted. He no longer feels the weight of carrying his King.

*

The climb alongside the side of the mountain is punishing, Dwalin aches to his very bones at carrying the extra weight, but Fili will not allow anyone else to assist his uncle, the events of Dwalin’s absence upon Thorin waking are still very fresh in his mind. Alas, they reach the hidden door easily enough. The key slots in, and reveals another door equipped with a password. Dwalin nor Balin know the password, only Thorin does. Being this close to home has still not roused Thorin from his state. Erebor is at his literal fingertips yet still, he stares into the void of nothingness, unseeing and suffering.

Dwalin grits his teeth, takes a huge intake of breath. The warrior is angry, distraught, lost for what to do, Thorin is not here to guide him.

*

The levee breaks when they are forced to sleep inside the foyer and still, Thorin does not respond. Dwalin holds the King’s face in his large hands, begging him in both English and Khuzdul just to speak, to reach out, _anything._

Dwalin’s cheeks become wet in his frustration, pent up tears finally falling. He holds Thorin close to his breast.

Absentmindedly, Dwalin brushes his lips against Thorin’s forehead in comfort, and it is only then does Thorin make the slightest response.

The king blinks twice as Dwalin’s lips touch is skin, then cloud over when they depart.

*

Dwalin is scared, mind-numbingly terrified when Thorin does not open his eyes for hours. Balin clutches his shoulder as he weeps for Thorin helplessly.

*

They are unable to get past the second door, so they do not linger, in case the dragon catches them. Bofur suggests they rest near the river to the north-east of Erebor, not far from the Mountain. Ori, Fili and Kili rush to the water first, as usual, though Fili especially lacks his usual vigour, eyes trained on Thorin.

*

When Gandalf suddenly reappears, Dwalin is positively livid with the wizard, grumbling under his breath at the delayed help. The wizard inspects the King with an air of nonchalance. Balin and Oin demand answers, demanding a cure.

“The heart’s desire will release him from the binds of his mind,” he states, lighting his pipe.

Oh, obviously. Dwalin rolls his eyes.

*

“We are close to Erebor,” Dwalin states.

Gandalf raises a bushy eyebrow. “Is that his heart’s desire?”

Dwalin looks away, absentmindedly fiddles with his knuckledusters. 

*

It’s worth a shot, really. He and Thorin have a undeniable love for each other, and Dwalin is too proud to admit out aloud he has spent a long time pining for Thorin, even though they often indulged to pleasure. Thorin is his very weakness and that’s becoming very evident.

Maybe it is not gold-lust that dwells in the very fibres of Thorin’s heart. 

*

“How is this suppose’ to work, exactly? I’m not forcin’ my fuckin’ King into nothin’.” 

Gandalf gives him an exasperated look from under his hat.

*

Dwalin lays Thorin in the water like he’s supposed to. Gandalf has placed a spell on the waters, apparently to assist the speed of the healing. Dwalin does not care. He wants his King to get better. He wants Thorin back. He wants his love back.

Thorin’s eyes are dim, now. Hazy, even. It’s saddening, looking into the depths. Thorin looks empty.

He presses his lips against Thorin’s, careful to keep his own lips parted as he does.

*

“I love you,” Dwalin says slowly, and very clearly.

Thorin thrashes in his arms, splashing water around like a child throwing a tantrum. Dwalin catches the King around the waist as he struggles to regain balance.

“Took you long enough!” Thorin barks, cracking from lack of use, flailing around in the water. Thorin screeches _“Dwalin!”_ loud enough, and high enough it hurts his ears.

Dwalin throws his hands up and glares at Thorin.

*

“That’s all it took? From the beginnin’! That is absolute horse shit!” Dwalin shouts at Thorin, despite it not even being Thorin’s fault. He’s angry. Crushed, he didn’t think of this sooner.

Thorin tries to speak, but Dwalin cuts him off.

“I fuckin’ thought ye were gonna die! All I had to do was tell ye I love ya? What the fuck is this fuckin’ wizard - spell - magic shit goin’ on ‘ere!”

Thorin remains silent, unaware of the distress his condition has affected Dwalin. He hugs Dwalin close, kisses him plenty, soothing him until his anger finds a different direction.

Gandalf is not impressed with his yelling.

*

“You know I love you, yes?” Thorin says unexpectedly, fingers tracing over the intricate patterns carved into the second door. With Thorin regaining his strength, the Company have managed to travel back to Erebor and through the first door.

Fili and Kili stare at the back of their Uncle’s head at the confession.

Dwalin raises an eyebrow. “Sure,” he says, unintentionally coming across as disbelieving. Thorin whips his head around and stares at him. “O’ course.”

The Company remain silent, unsure if they should speak. 

“Do you know the password, King?” Nori asks hesitantly. 

“Indeed. _Sakh du abùrûf Lamâb-Dum shol bukhib nanan_.”

The door remains closed, though the edges become alight as the moonlight hits the stone, something which did not occur when they first arrived when Thorin was ill. Thorin shuts his eyes for a long moment, the company hold a belated breath. Dwalin assumes there must be more to the password. Thorin stares at the door and makes a humming sound.

“The password is no longer the same,” the King says. Balin sighs in the background and takes a seat on the paved floor. Bombur joins him eagerly, glad to rest.

*

“Fuck! What the fuck is it?” Thorin growls, alarming Ori with his unexpected cursing. “Stupid fucking family and their stupid passwords!”

Balin tuts at his language.

*

Bifur tries the ancient language to no avail.

*

They have been inside the foyer for so long, Dori, Kili, Oin, Bofur, Bombur and Balin have fallen asleep. Thorin mutters every password ever equipped to any door in any Dwarf kingdom, but alas, the door will not open.

Thorin appears several seconds from tearing his own hair out. Master Baggins has been very helpful, suggesting other passwords, Elvish ones, as he has read several books about Elvish and Dwarven origin. Thorin purses his lips though he does as suggested, the soft, languid tones of the Elves do not open the door either.

*

Gandalf is not very helpful, either.

*

The entire company sleep, aside from Thorin and Dwalin. Dwalin would’ve liked for some sleep, but Thorin wanted his company, needing some comfort, Dwalin assumes. Thorin sits between his legs, back to Dwalin’s chest, warm and comfortable, away from prying eyes.

*

“I’ve thought of everything! Why did my father change it? I do not understand,” Thorin says to Balin. “He is the only one who could have changed the password.” 

Balin shrugs and bites his lip. “I do not know when he could have changed the password, apart from the very day Smaug took the mountain.”

Thorin seems to have given up pretences, seating himself in Dwalin’s arms again, half laying, half sitting and resting his head against Dwalin’s chest, hiding his face in Dwalin’s neck.

Fili and Kili snicker despite themselves, only falling quiet when Thorin glares in their direction.

“How _do you even change the fucking password_ , for Aulë’s sake?”

*

“Perhaps names,” Thorin snaps, eyes glued to the door. Dwalin adds, “A possibility, my Lord.”

“Thrór.” 

“Thráin?”

Thorin releases an angry breath with a haughty scowl. “My grandmother: Dimtila.” The door remains closed.

“My mother? Halía?”

A pause. “Durin. Dáin? My uncles: Frór, Grór.”

Surely, Thorin’s fierce glare could easily shatter a door of lesser strength.

*

“Frerin.”

Thorin clenches his fists and releases them dramatically.

“Dís!”

*

Thorin paces angrily then turns, and bellows, _“Thorin!”_ at the door, snappishly turning away. The King freezes when the door begins to creak loudly, eventually opening behind him. The entire company stare at Thorin and then at the now opened door, leading to the deeper pathways of the Kingdom. Thorin releases a frustrated howl. Bofur tries not to laugh. Gloin doesn’t, his chuckles echo through the hall. Fili and Kili whoop and coo, hugging Thorin eagerly, awaiting instruction.

*

When the war is won, Dwalin figures he should mention it.

“When ye were sick, Thorin, ya said somethin’ to me. Was a little odd,” Dwalin says casually, despite the worry in his chest.

“Hmmm?” Thorin acknowledges.

They are alone in the King’s chambers.

“Aye. Ye said ‘they are here,’ several times. What did ye mean?”

Thorin looks away. Dwalin knows by experience this subject is upsetting to Thorin, now. He will not stray from this conversation unless the King requests it. He doesn’t.

“I was trapped in this world, I cannot understand nor can I even explain it. I figure it was my own mind, obviously. It was so strange, so different. I saw them, Dwalin,” Thorin whispers, “my father, my grandfather and Frerin. I know it was a conjure of my own mind, and it was not a real world, but they were, in some aspects. I hugged Frerin. I apologised to my father, as I did not search for him. I begged for forgiveness from my grandfather. He said I need not ask for it. But he gave it to me.”

Dwalin nods. He is unsure of what to say, so he settles for saying nothing.

“It hurt me,” the King’s voice cracks with genuine, raw emotion. “It hurt me to see them again. To hear their voices, the same as they once were. I needed to get out, to escape. I needed to leave them, before I become accustomed to their presence.”

“M’sorry it took me so long, Thorin,” Dwalin soothes, “I was out of my depth.”

Thorin smiles and reaches for him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You found me in the end. You always have.”

Dwalin switches to a smug grin. “I’m your heart’s desire, aye, Thorin?” His tone is teasing.

Thorin regards him seriously. “Of course you are. You always have been.”

“Oh,” he replies lamely.

Thorin smiles again, showing off the straight rows of teeth. “ _Oh,_ indeed.”


End file.
